Monday in the 4th Week of Easter
Two Faces of the Shepherd

Readings: Acts 11:1-18; Psalm 42:2-3; 43:3, 4; John 10:11-18
Picture: CC babasteve

It’s a very delicate situation that we find in the first reading today, one that could so easily have turned very ugly. We reach, at this point in the Acts of the Apostles, the beginnings of what was to become a major watershed in the life of the early church, the spread of the gospel beyond its original Jewish context. So much depends on this meeting, this dialogue, between Peter and the Jewish Christians of Jerusalem. And, at the same time, so many things could so easily have gone wrong. The conversation could so easily have been disrupted, or have veered off in a very different and far less desirable direction.

We notice, for example, how the exchange begins with what appears to be an argumentative confrontation: You entered the house of uncircumcised people and ate with them. To which, Peter could so easily have responded by saying something like: So what?! I am Peter. I know what I’m doing. You listen to me… Thankfully, he chooses instead to patiently explain the reasons for his actions.

On their part, after Peter’s sharing, the Jewish Christians could also have chosen to respond like this: So what?! What does it matter what vision you saw, what words you heard, what experience you had? According to the law we must not have anything to do with the uncircumcised… Instead, surprisingly perhaps, after listening carefully to Peter and finding his reasoning convincing they actually allow their minds to be changed. What was at first considered taboo, an unthinkable proposition, is seen as a precious God-given opportunity. And the result is a more generous collaboration in the ongoing project of sharing with the world the divine life in all its fullness. When they heard this, they stopped objecting and glorified God…

What is perhaps most striking about this story is how two equally legitimate, yet apparently opposite, tendencies come together in a most helpful way. If we see the faith as a fountain of living water, then the Jewish Christians represent the important task of defending that life-giving source from external contamination. And isn’t this a task that remains especially important today, faced as we are with so many different experiences just as, if not more, risky and challenging than the prospect of admitting uncircumcised pagans to the faith? Peter, on the other hand, represents that aspect of the faith that is not content simply to remain at home jealously guarding a familiar font. Rather does it thirstily continue to seek the face of God in ongoing engagement with the world: Athirst is my soul for the living God…

Defending and seeking: are these not two equally important and legitimate tendencies in the life of the church? And do they not constitute two faces, as it were, of the gospel’s image of the Good Shepherd, who both protects his flock from ravenous wolves, and also leaves the ninety-nine to go in search of the lost one (see Luke 15:4)? And isn't it striking and enlightening how these two tendencies come together in the life of the church? The process involves an open dialogue, a mutual laying down of one’s cards on the table of communal discernment. Even more important is the focus of the parties. More than merely clinging stubbornly to preconceived positions, the emphasis is instead on seeking together, in the apparently novel, the already familiar hand of God. In the reading, this is found in these words of Peter: ...the Holy Spirit fell upon them as it had upon us at the beginning, and I remembered the word of the Lord…

How are we being called to embody the two faces of the Good Shepherd in the world today?

Friday in the 3rd Week of Easter
Blinded Unto Revolution

Readings: Acts 9:1-20; Psalm 117:1bc, 2; John 6:52-59
Picture: CC Meffi

There was a time when people believed that the earth was flat, just as there was a time when the earth was thought to be the center of the universe around which all other heavenly bodies revolved. How did we come to believe differently? In his classic but controversial book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962), the late historian and philosopher of science Thomas Kuhn describes the process in terms of what he calls paradigm shifts. A prevailing theory, used to explain the way things are, becomes more and more inadequate. There is then a sudden shift to another theory, another paradigm or way of looking at the world, which explains things better. The idea, for example, that the earth is the center of the universe is replaced by one favoring the sun. Of course, not everyone will welcome this radical change of perspective. Some will continue to cling stubbornly to the former theory, however inadequate. Indeed, Kuhn himself seemed to think that scientific revolutions could take place only when those who subscribed to the old theory died out and were replaced by those who preferred the new.

So much for the field of science. But aren’t there also similar revolutions to be negotiated in the realm of the spirit, paradigm shifts that we know as conversions? And don’t we see some of these taking place in our readings today? In the gospel, Jesus continues to present a radically provocative and scandalous teaching: unless you eat the Flesh of the Son of Man and drink his Blood, you shall not have life within you… Even to begin to comprehend this shocking teaching, let alone to put it into practice, requires that Jesus’ listeners first put into question their prevailing understandings of flesh and blood, of nourishment and life.

And is the revolution that is taking place in the life of Saul in the first reading any less radical? At one moment, he is mounted on a horse, zealously upholding the law, fearlessly fighting on the side of God, or so he thinks. Then, in a blinding flash, he is lying in the dust, accused of persecuting the One who is the embodiment of the law, the Son of God himself. And what of Ananias? Isn’t he also being asked to negotiate a paradigm shift of sorts? To the dangerous demon from whom he and his fellow Christians are anxious to flee, he is sent as a ministering angel. Go, for this man is a chosen instrument of mine…

How, if at all, might such spiritual revolutions, such pastoral paradigm shifts, truly be negotiated? Unlike Kuhn, our readings don’t seem to require that we wait for some people to die and be replaced by others. But they do call for a dying of a different sort. To negotiate the revolution, to undergo the conversion, to which they are called, Jesus’ listeners must first die to their prevailing prejudices regarding who Jesus is and what he says. And, even if to different degrees, both Saul and Ananias must forsake their respective understandings of where God is to be found. Part of this dying process will involve a willingness to submit to being blinded, if only for a time, and to entrusting oneself into the guiding hands of Another.

What revolutions are we being invited to negotiate today?

Thursday in the 3rd Week of Easter
Without Missing the Forest for the Trees

Readings: Acts 8:26-40; Psalm 66:8-9, 16-17, 20; John 6:44-51
Picture: CC Shayan (USA)

It’s easy to miss the forest for the trees. I vaguely remember reading somewhere about a scripture scholar who often found it difficult to pray with the scriptures. The difficulty was due not to a lack of knowledge – this was a scholar! – but rather to an excess. Fully conversant with the historical background as well as the issues of interpretation surrounding each scripture text, the scholar often found it difficult to get past such considerations in order to encounter the One to whom all prayer is addressed. Bogged down by various details of information, the scholar couldn’t quite access the deeper concerns and feelings that needed to be expressed. It’s easy to miss the forest for the trees, especially if one is a tree-expert.

The people with whom Jesus is speaking in today’s gospel are probably not experts, but it’s quite clear that they have a good knowledge of the Hebrew Scriptures. They know enough to cite the example of Moses feeding the people with manna in the desert as a precedent, in the hope of convincing Jesus to continue doing something similar. It’s probably not difficult to empathize with them, especially not at the present time, when the price of rice is escalating and many are already starting to hoard. In the desert of their hunger and need, wouldn’t it be handy to have a one-man bread/ rice-producing machine? Yet the people’s knowledge of scripture presents more of a hindrance than a help to their relationship with God. Caught up in their own immediate concerns, they miss the deeper significance of the very scriptures that they are citing. They miss the forest for the trees.

Isn’t this why Jesus has carefully been refocusing their attention? As we heard on Tuesday: it was not Moses who gave the bread from heaven; my Father gives you the true bread from heaven. And today: I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died; this is the bread that comes down from heaven so that one may eat it and not die. Jesus is doing for the people the very same thing that we see Philip doing for the Ethiopian eunuch on the desert route in the first reading. In the desert of their obsession with material things, Jesus shows them how all of scripture points to the marvelous deeds that the Father performs, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. Through the Filial Lamb led to the slaughter, the Word Made Flesh and Splendor of the Father, the True Bread come down from heaven, the people are being led into the fullness of life. And the measure of their appreciation of the scriptures lies less in how much they know than in how open they are in approaching this One whom the Father sends. Everyone who listens to my Father and learns from him comes to me… It’s important to study the scriptures. But do not miss the forest for the trees.

And what of us? In the respective deserts of our own existence, what are the trees to which we might be tempted to cling? What are the hindrances that prevent us from deepening our relationship with the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit?

How is God inviting us to refocus our attention from the trees to the forest today?

Wednesday in the 3rd Week of Easter
The Joy is in The Rain

Readings: Acts 8:1b-8; Psalm 66:1-3a, 4-5, 6-7a; John 6:35-40
Picture: CC carf

Every cloud has a silver lining… This is perhaps the first thought that comes to mind as we listen to the readings at Mass today. We are well aware, of course, that we remain in the exuberance of Easter. How can we forget, when we find this joyful shout in the response to the psalm: Let all the earth cry out to God with joy… And yet, we cannot help but notice that the first reading begins with these ominous words: there broke out a severe persecution of the Church in Jerusalem, and all were scattered… Even so, the same reading ends on an unexpectedly lighthearted note. Forced dispersal results in wider dissemination of the gospel, even to Samaria. And there was great joy in that city. From behind the terrible thundercloud of persecution peeps the silver lining of growth in fervor and in number.

But we might perhaps reflect still a little further, question a little deeper. Is it enough for us to remain with the image of a tiny silver lining around every ominous cloud? Is that truly the full extent of our Easter joy? When our ears are deafened by loud peals of thunder, when our eyes are blinded by bright flashes of lightning, or our homes inundated by torrential sheets of rain, is our comfort only to be found after we have weathered the storm? Does our joy come only after the rains have ceased and we have managed to catch sight of the sun shyly peeping out from behind the stubborn clouds that remain?

Or is there not something more to the gift of faith that we spoke of in the opening prayer? As a result of Christ’s Passion, Death and Resurrection, is it not rather the case that even in the midst of the storm, however terrible and torrential it may be, we are never abandoned. Rather than waiting desperately to catch sight of a silver lining, is it not rather the case that, because of Christ, every cloud is now shot through with silver? This doesn’t mean, of course, that we will not have occasion to suffer, and even to make a loud lament, as the Christians of Jerusalem do in the first reading. What it does mean is that even in the midst of our pain, Christ can yet be found. For as he himself tells us in the gospel, this is the will of the one who sent me, that I should not lose anything of what he gave me, but that I should raise it up on the last day…

Isn’t this the all but unbelievable mystery that we are celebrating, and into which we are continually immersing ourselves in this Easter season? Isn’t this the crux of the tremendous deeds of God that we earlier acclaimed in the responsorial psalm, that God has changed the sea into dry land, and that the joy is in the rain?

How are being invited to enter more fully into this joy today?

Tuesday in the 3rd Week of Easter
Stones and Bread


Readings: Acts 7:51—8:1a; Psalm 31:3cd-4, 6 and 7b and 8a, 17 and 21ab; John 6:30-35
Picture: CC kevsunblush

As is often the case, our readings today lead us to recall other passages of scripture. Two in particular are brought to mind. And each is connected with the three central themes that we find in today’s readings: signs, stones and bread.

It’s quite puzzling, isn’t it, that so shortly after having been fed miraculously, the people in the gospel ask Jesus for a sign in order that they might believe in him? Obviously, what Jesus says of them in yesterday’s reading is accurate: you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled. This gives their request for yet another sign a certain manipulative, even demonic, ring to it. We say demonic, because their request brings to mind the first passage of scripture mentioned above. In the synoptic gospels, the devil first tempts Jesus in the desert with the following words: If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become loaves of bread (Matthew 4:3). Which can perhaps be paraphrased as follows: If you want me to believe in you, to commit my life to you, then first satisfy my hunger, first pay my mortgage, or find me a job, or heal my illness…

The gospel makes plain for us the difficulty with this approach. To all the questions and problems that the world has to offer, God responds with only one answer, only one sign. As Jesus tells the tempter in the desert: One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4). The only all-sufficient, all-satisfying sign that God offers hungry humanity is Jesus himself, the bread of life. But their obsession with superficial sustenance prevents the people in the gospel from partaking in the true bread that satisfies our deepest yearning. Sadly for them, the bread of God… which comes down from heaven is transformed instead into a stone, the same stone spoken about in the second of the scripture passages mentioned above. For those without faith: "The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone, and "A stone that will make people stumble, and a rock that will make them fall." They stumble by disobeying the word (1 Peter 2:7-8).

In contrast, in today’s first reading, we see an opposing dynamic. We see instead the fulfillment of Jesus’ words in the gospel. Steadfast in faith even while being stoned to death, Stephen is strengthened to such a degree that he is able to continue entrusting himself to God and to pray even for his executioners. Here, in the experience of Stephen, we see taking place the very miracle that Jesus refused the tempter in the desert. In Stephen’s dedication and commitment to the Lord, the stones hurled at him in hatred are transformed into spiritual sustenance not only for himself, but also for the whole world. For, in the Acts of the Apostles, the martyrdom of Stephen also heralds the beginnings of the conversion and ministry of the man called Saul, soon to be renamed Paul…

Bread into stone, or stone into bread? That seems to be the question presented to us today. And, as we might expect, the direction in which our answer takes depends upon how we relate to the One who embodies, in himself, both Stone and Bread. In the words of the psalmist: Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Into whose hands do we commend ours today?